


the good side

by somalester



Series: blood and water [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Post-Break Up, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Superfamily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 04:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16509290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somalester/pseuds/somalester
Summary: Steve left him his ring.And Tony can’t find closure, no matter how much he tries to give their son a sense of normalcy.





	the good side

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Troye Sivan‘s “The Good Side“

Steve left him his ring.

It’s laying in the cupboard of Tony’s bedside drawer, dangerously close to where he’s tossing and turning in the sheets every other night.

He tries not to look at it; the ring, the letter and the cellphone. Which is why he so rarely actually goes to their old room to sleep. Most of the time, it’s the workshop, or the couch in the living room. Sometimes, when Peter’s away for the night, Tony sleeps in his son’s room. (It’s the only occasion where he’s granted a few uninterrupted hours of sleep, and at first, just after Steve left, they’d both curl up together in Peter’s bed, but now Tony knows he needs to try to give the kid at least some level of normalcy.)

It’s not a good day. He knows as much as soon as he opens his eyes.

He must’ve passed out sometime after six in his workshop. His head hurts and his back shoots arrows of pain through his spine when he tries to move.

Yeah. It’s still not much of a good idea to sleep hunched over a workbench.

But there’s nobody there to stop him anymore, except for Peter, and Tony knows he can’t put that on him, so he permanently restricted his access to the lab.

Tony runs at his eyes and tries to make sense of the time. It’s probably still morning; he never sleeps longer than one to two hours.

Which means it’s still Saturday, and Peter will be -

Wait.

Tony breathes in deeply as he remembers. Peter won’t be home. He’ll be in the city to meet up with Steve.

Which is his right. He should be able to be with his father. And Steve deserves to see his son, too. Tony’s told Peter as much.

It hurts. It fucking hurts, knowing Peter’s with Steve and he’s not. But that’s not even the worst of it; oh no. The fear of losing Peter _to Steve_ , that’s the thing that haunted his nightmares last week. The fear of being left behind by himself again. By his own son,a son that has never given him any indication whatsoever to think like this.

_“But, are you sure you’re going to be okay with this? I know how hard it’s been for you, Dad.”_

Tony groans.

Jesus Christ. He’s a mess and he doesn’t even know any different anymore.

So, being a functional human seems to be off the table. Again.

(He wonders if it should even be possible to miss another human being as much as he misses Steve; so much that his every waking moment is controlled by it.)

In the next few hours, he tries to pull himself together.

He takes a shower and changes into clothes that don’t make him look like a homeless drug addict. Then he sits down in the kitchen to eat, which is where he encounters the limits of his strength for the day.

He’s still sitting there a few hours later when he hears Peter’s steps in the living room.

His left hand starts to tremble.

Peter would know he hadn’t eaten yet. He would know and he would worry, which was exactly what Tony wanted to avoid.

Peter deserved a relaxed day with his father, he shouldn’t have to -

“Dad?”

Tony sighs. “In here, buddy.”

Seconds later, Peter shuffles in through the door and falls onto the chair opposite Tony. In lieu of saying anything he grabs one of the bread rolls off of Tony’s plate and begins to rip it to pieces and put them in his mouth.

Ah, Tony muses. Comfort eating then.

Which isn’t what he expected.

“Do I need to punch him again?”

Peter’s head snaps up. “What?”

“Your father,” Tony clarifies. “Did he say anything to you? Do I need to punch him?”

Peter sighs and stares at his piece of bun. “He didn’t mean to make me upset. I just... It’s hard.”

“Yeah,” Tony whispers. “I bet.”

There’s a reason after all, that he hasn’t seen Steve since the official pardon.

(And he’s not even sure what exactly it is; his anger is layered with sadness and vice versa.)

“He offered to meet me more often,” Peter says hesitantly. “‘Cause he and... and the others, they have a place outside of town.”

Tony can’t suppress his flinch.

It’s not surprising, really, that Steve would try to settle in again, but -

His heart constricts, and it makes his lungs go tighter.

Peter looks at him, wide-eyed. “I don’t have to do it! If you’re not okay with it, I won’t.”

Tony smiles wryly. “You shouldn’t think like that, kid. You’ve got a right to see both of us.”

“But if you’re upset -” Peter starts to protest, so earnestly it makes Tony feel even worse.

“Stop worrying about me.” His voice is stern, but it has to be. “I _want_ you to have a relationship with Steve.”

Peter eyes him worriedly, his teeth chewing on his bottom lip.

“I mean it,” Tony stresses. “You go meet up with Steve as much as you want to. We’ve been over this.”

“I’ll think about it,” is all Peter says.

Tony clenches his jaw. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. This fight is between him and Steve alone. And yet, Peter’s still caught in the middle.

(What’s worse, he’d still feel better if Peter wasn’t talking to Steve.)

Yeah, it can’t go on like this.

 

* * *

 

 

For all those months, Tony always felt like the cellphone Steve left him was mocking him. Because it wasn’t meant for Tony or even Peter. It was only a means of calling for help if the world was falling apart. It felt like Steve was laughing at him.

Well, fuck that.

Their son needs both of them. That just about qualifies as _the world falling apart_.

Tony breathes in deeply.

He’s sitting on his and Steve’s bed, with his drawer open, the envelope in his hand and Steve’s ring in his peripheral vision.

He doesn’t want to do this. He really doesn’t want to do this.

Seeing Steve during the pardon trial was bad enough. Realizing he couldn’t look at his own husband without remembering his shield coming down on him was bad, but still feeling a part of the love for him was even worse.

He doesn’t want to to go through that again. He wants to turn around and push Steve’s existence away as best as possible. It hurts too fucking much to even consider another possibility.

But Peter needs him.

He klicks on the only contact saved in the phone and presses call.

It barely rings once, and then Tony’s hearing Steve’s voice, right next to his ear.

“Tony?”

He breathes. “Steve.”

Steve hesitates, voice unsure. “What’s going on?”

And just like that, Tony’s lost for words.

“Tony?” Steve asks, again. More urgently now. “Is something wrong? Is... Is it Peter?”

Tony latches onto that like a lifeline.

(He doesn’t even know how to lead a conversation with his ex-husband, christ.)

“Yeah. Yeah, it... He was pretty upset when he came home earlier.”

Tony hears Steve curse under his breath and has to remind himself that he doesn’t get to make the _Language_ jokes anymore.

“I asked him to come by at mine and Bucky’s-”

Tony flinches, then mentally curses at himself. This is about Peter, not him.

“- and I didn’t intend to pressure him into anything. He doesn’t have to talk to me if he doesn’t want to.”

Tony can hear the hurt Steve’s so desperately trying not to show in every word he says. He yearns to comfort him, but it’s not his place anymore.

“He wants to, believe me,” Tony says shortly. “But you know him. He’s never going to agree to his if he thinks he’s hurting... if he thinks we’re not okay with it.”

Steve’s side of the phone remains silent for so long that Tony is starting to accept the fact that Steve probably caught up with what he was really saying.

_I can’t even hide my hurt feelings from my own son._

And, sure enough, all Steve says is, “Are you?”

Tony grits his teeth. “Am I what?”

“Okay with this.”

 _No_. No, he’s not, but it’s not as simple as that. And any other answer than yes would make him a shit father, and an even worse person.

“Yeah, sure.”

 

* * *

 

 

The whole conversation feels like threading through thick mud, but eventually, they decide that Peter would meet with Steve every second weekend, if possible. And if Peter wanted to, of course.

Naturally, Tony has to talk about this with Peter. And naturally, it doesn’t go that well.

Oh, Peter agrees to meet Steve, but Tony hadn’t doubted that anyway.

It’s Peter’s expression, his heartbreakingly hopeful expression when Tony tells him he’s talked to Steve. And the worst thing is, Tony can’t even blame him for hoping. He’s just a kid, for christ’s sake, he deserves normal parents. Or at least non-divorced ones.

And that’s the one thing that Tony can’t give him, so he talks right over that hopeful glint in his son’s eyes, and tells him they’ve figured out a schedule to share him.

Peter grows quiet at that.

And Tony stands there and grits his teeth because there’s nothing he can do to make Peter feel better.

“You’re not gonna try then?” Peter eventually says. “At all?”

Tony sighs and wishes Peter wouldn’t be old enough to understand. Because he’s right in demanding that Tony try, and yet he can’t do it, not even for his son.

“Steve and I need some time apart,” Tony answers, and knows his son isn’t buying his bullshit excuse for something that runs much, much deeper, but it’s all he can give Peter right now.

 

* * *

 

 

It goes well, for about two months.

If their fragile truce is what can be called _well_.

The first time Peter spends the day with Steve and the others, Tony drives him there because he can tell how nervous Peter is, and proceeds to spend the rest of the day feeling like complete and utter shit, while trying not to think about the people he used to love and trust making Peter laugh. It gets so bad that Rhodey has him sitting down on the couch and do breathing exercises.

“You have to calm down Tones. Nothing bad is going to happen to Peter.”

Tony would’ve laughed if he had the lung capacity to do so.

Of course, nothing bad was going to happen to Peter. Tony was just -

Jealous, maybe, but that wasn’t the right word. Terrified. Sad. Lonely. Perhaps a combination of everything.

“He’s all I have,” Tony whispers instead of saying any of the chaos that’s wreaking havoc in his mind.

Rhodey smiles sadly. “I know. But he’s going to come back, and he’s not going to love you any less when he does.”

Tony just stares at his expensive carpet and wonders how his best friend can sound so sure.

That evening, Peter doesn’t talk about his day. Instead, he asks about how Tony’s feeling and really, he always knew he didn’t deserve Peter, but the universe doesn’t have to rub it in like this, thank you very much.

The second and third time, Peter stays for the whole weekend and Tony makes sure to attend every meeting he’s got scheduled during that time. (Pepper stares at him in complete and utter shock - as if he’s got some kind of alien possessing him.)

He asks Peter about his weekend when they’re both back at the compound, more because of his own self-destructive urges than actual concern for his son, but Peter lets himself be persuaded to talk anyway.

They played a lot of video games, apparently. Watched some movies and attempted to make pasta. It sounds so familiar that Tony almost has to excuse himself to his workshop to have a few panic attacks in peace.

He’d once been a part of this. It’s not _fair_.

It doesn’t even do him any good, wishing for these times to come back. He doesn’t even know if he’d be strong enough to be in a room with all of the old Avengers, even if he got the chance.

He smiles through Peter’s story though, because his son doesn’t deserve any of this.

But anyway, compared to what happens after that, it was definitely going well.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time Peter’s away for the weekend, Pepper refuses to let him enter any office buildings. Apparently, hiding from his problems by drowning himself in work was “unhealthy”. (Tony just retreats to his workshop instead, feeling quite proud of himself.)

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Tony decides to leave the Compound to do some testing on his new suit just as Steve’s car stops at the end of the driveway.

Tony’s brain immediately goes _fuck no_ and he just really wants to do a 180 and leave, but Peter’s probably already seen him, and he really shouldn’t see Tony practically flee at the sight of his former husband.

(Also, the weight of the housing case for his new suit’s nano-particles is reassuring enough for him to maintain his composure.)

Peter and Steve get out of the car.

Tony keeps his eyes trained on Peter as Steve moves to get his luggage out of the trunk.

“Hey, kid. Had a good weekend?”

Peter gives him a small smile. “Yeah.”

Tony frowns at the lack of talkativeness from his kid. “You okay?”

Peter, being Peter, just nods and makes a break for the Compound the second Steve hands him his small suitcase.

Tony watches his retreating form wearily, then breathes in deeply and turns to meet Steve’s eyes.

“What happened?” He asks, voice cold.

Steve sighs, and hell, Tony could’ve recognized that guilty expression anywhere.

“He overheard some things that he shouldn’t have,” he says quietly.

Tony’s eyes narrow. “Care to elaborate on that?”

This time, it’s Steve who avoids his eyes. “Clint was just joking around. It’s... he didn’t mean it.”

“Steve,” Tony says tightly, just so holding on to his calm. “What did he say?”

“He... told me I’m doing good with Peter.” Steve hesitates. “Despite, you know, having to do it alone.”

Tony breathes in deeply to push all of his initial reactions out of the way. “Jesus.”

Steve flinches. “Tony, listen -”

“No,” Tony cuts him off. “You listen. I don’t care what you all think about me, you cannot let Peter hear any of that, you hear me? He’s been suffering enough.”

Steve is still looking at the ground instead of him, which only makes Tony’s blood boil even more.

“I know I shouldn’t have let him hear that,” Steve says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Tony closes his eyes for a second, but it doesn’t do anything to soothe the protective anger that’s running his mouth. “You better be. ‘Cause I’m the one who will have to deal with your fuck-up. Again.”

Finally, _finally_ Steve meets his eyes, and Tony almost doesn’t care that he probably went too far just then.

“I thought we were over this,” Steve says tightly.

“Well, that must feel nice,” Tony snaps, all while hating himself for pushing them both into this _again_.

“Tony, please.” And Steve, the asshole, actually sounds exhausted. “Let’s not do this.”

Tony’s shoulders fall. The fight drops out of him and leaves him feeling incredibly empty. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...”

Steve just shakes his head, looking about as beat as Tony feels. “No, it’s okay. I’ll talk to Clint.”

“Thank you,” Tony whispers. “I don’t want Peter to get dragged into this even more.”

Steve smiles sadly. “Yeah. We shouldn’t have...” He trails off, which Tony is immensely grateful for. There’s way too many _shouldn’t_ _haves_ between the three of them.

“I should go look for him,” Tony says, both to get out of the situation and because he knows that Peter will still be upset.

“I know.” Steve hovers there for a moment, staring at the Compound with a strange look in his eyes before turning around and walking back to his car.

Tony doesn’t watch him leave. He’s back inside before the buzzing of the engine fades out, already scanning the building for his son.

He doesn’t have to search long. Peter’s standing in front of the ceiling-to-floor windows right next to the door, staring at the driveway.

Before Tony can even open his mouth, Peter turns around and Tony freezes at the tired look in his eyes.

“Did you and Papa fight again?”

Tony’s heart feels like it’s physically breaking in two. “Baby -”

“Don’t lie to me!” Peter shouts, almost frantically. Then, his voice lowers (almost breaks). “I know you’re not even talking to each other.”

Tony sighs, cursing his son who’s too smart for his own good. “It was just a disagreement, kid. We didn’t fight.”

Peter snorts, but it’s a cold, horrible thing. “So what? It only counts as fighting if you beat each other up?”

Tony flinches, clenches his left hand into a fist. He shouldn’t be surprised, he _knows_ where this is coming from, but it still hurts, and it hurts more than it probably should. “Peter -”

“I can’t do this anymore,” Peter whispers, then turns around and leaves. Tony just so happens to see the first tears running down his cheeks.

 

* * *

 

 

There was a time when Steve would go after Peter if Tony fucked up and vice versa.

As it is, Tony is currently sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. He knows better than to follow Peter right now and possibly rile him up even further, which leaves him with a lot of time to think about what happened.

He shouldn’t have tried to lie to Peter. That much is obvious.

But Peter’s suffering enough as it is. He shouldn’t have to worry about the little things too. Like Tony and Steve being unable to lead a conversation that doesn’t turn ugly.

God. They used to kiss each other goodnight every day.

His left hand has started to shake again, and Tony vaguely notices that he’s having trouble breathing.

Damn. He needs to get this under _control_ already.

He remains sitting there, fighting against his anxiety for a good hour or so, continuously tethering on the edge of breaking down for good.

(There’s so much clawing against the walls in his head, demanding to be let out, but he’s cried enough about all of this already. Peter needs him; he’s got to stop being a burden and start being a parent again.)

Eventually, it’s the guilt that makes him get to his feet.

He hasn’t seen Peter since he stormed out on him, and even though he knows Peter can take care of himself, there’s still worry curling in his chest.

When he pushes the door to his son’s room open after knocking gets him no response, the only thing he sees is a vague lump on the bed and Tony realizes he shouldn’t have waited so long.

“Peter?”

The blinds are drawn tight with only very little light filling the room and it’s so quiet that Tony doesn’t dare to raise his voice above a whisper.

The lump shivers then moves slightly until Peter’s head is poking out of the blankets.

“Dad?”

 _Shit_. Tony thinks. _Kid must be feeling really bad to call me Dad after the day he’s had._

“Yeah, it’s me,” he answers softly. “What’s going on, are you not feeling good?”

Peter nods pitifully. “I’m cold.”

Tony frowns and walks up to the bed, which is when he sees the glint of sweat on Peter’s skin.

He carefully places his palm against Peter’s forehead, and almost recoils.

He’s burning up.

Tony curses himself silently. _Of course_ Peter’s burning up; it's never not been that way the few times he got sick after the spider bite.

He does his best to smile down at his that’s already been through enough. “I think you’re getting sick, kiddo.”

Peter just blinks at him. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Tony’s fingers start storming through Peter’s curls almost on their own accord, seeking to provide as much comfort as he can while running through a mental checklist on what to do.

(It feels wrong, doing this without Steve, like a clock that’s trying to tick without one of its core components.)

“We need to get your temperature down a bit, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Peter slurs, but Tony doubts he really understands what’s happening around him.

He releases his son’s curls and Peter immediately disappears under his blanket.

Tony allows himself one more worried glance at his son, then hurries out of the room, collecting water bottles and tea, some wet towels and a thermometer.

Peter’s watching him wearily from the bed when he dumps all his supplies on the bedside table.

“I’m c-cold,” he says again, shivering.

“I know buddy,” Tony soothes. “But you’re running a fever, so we’re gonna have to check your temperature and try to get that down a little, yeah?”

Peter pouts, obviously not happy about it, but he nods, with such deeply convicted trust in his eyes it makes Tony’s heart sting.

He reaches for the thermometer on the nightstand and Peter slightly tilts his head to allow Tony to access his ear.

When the device beeps and the screen lights up with a _102_ , Tony curses.

Peter frowns at him. “‘S that bad?”

Tony tries to smile reassuringly, but doubts that he’s doing that much of a good job, considering how out of his depth he’s feeling at doing this alone.

“It’s gonna be okay baby, you just need to rest a little bit.”

His voice isn’t shaking dammit, it’s _not_.

“‘Mkay,” Peter says.

Tony has him drink some tea and then curl into the bed again, carefully placing one of the cold towels on his forehead. It doesn’t seem to do much good though; in fact, Peter’s slipping more and more into delirium by the time Tony lets him lie down again.

In fact, when Tony tries to get off the bed to find Peter some lighter blankets, a small, clammy hand grasps at his shirt and stops him.

Peter is blearily blinking up at him, and Tony’s not sure his son’s recognizing him until he speaks.

“Daddy, where’s Papa?”

Tony freezes. “What?”

“Where’s Papa,” Peter repeats. “He’s always here when I’m sick.”

 _Shit_.

Something inside Tony twists.

He has to avert his eyes and stare at the ceiling, trying to push back tears.

“Dad?” Peter asks, and he sounds scared now. “What’s... why isn’t Papa here?”

Tony has to cover up his flinch.

(Cause yeah, why isn’t Steve here, why is Tony alone, why does have to be alone with his fifteen-year-old, sick son, he can’t even take care of _himself_.)

“He’s just...”

 _God_ , how does he even -

“He’s busy, baby. Nothing to worry about.”

Peter’s shaking fingers bury themselves more insistently into Tony’s clothes. He looks back at his kid and sees Peter stare at him with big, pleading eyes.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Screw whatever Steve was doing right now.

“I’m gonna call him, yeah? And... and no matter what, I’ll make him come here and cuddle you.”

Peter blinks at him quizzically and Tony doubts he understood half of what he just said.

“Just sit tight,” he says, and if his eyes are watering again, well, so be it. “Papa’s going to be here soon.”

“Alright.” Peter gives him a lopsided smile and drops back down into the sheets, immediately out like a light.

Tony breathes in deeply and goes to get the old burner phone from his nightstand.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s one of the fastest phone calls of his life, and it’s nothing like what he’d prepared for.

Steve picks up after the very first ring, sounding cautious and nervous.

“Tony? What’s going on?”

“It’s Peter.”

Dead silence.

Tony grips the phone tighter and tries to steel himself. “He’s sick. Like, really sick, and he’s asking for you. I know you’ve probably got other things to do but he’s still your son and I’ll-”

“I’m coming.”

Tony blinks. “What?”

“I said I’m coming,” Steve repeats in that calm, steeled voice of his. “I’m half an hour out, tops.”

Tony knows he lives further away than that, but he doesn’t ask. “Hurry up.”

“I will. You two hang in there, okay?”

Tony snorts; he can’t help it.

_(We were alone for so long, as if half an hour is going to make any difference.)_

 

* * *

 

 

If none other, Steve at least keeps this promise. After twenty-five minutes, FRIDAY pipes up quietly and announces that Steve Rogers is requesting entry.

It rouses Peter from the not-quite sleep he’d slipped into. “Wha... ?”

Tony gently cards his hands through Peter’s curls to keep him relaxed and tells FRIDAY to let Steve in. Barely a minute later, the door opens, revealing his ex-husband’s blue eyes.

As soon as he sees Peter and Tony in the bed, his face pales, but he hovers in the doorway, as if unsure of what to do.

Tony sighs. “What do you think I called you for? Come in.”

It’s like he cut bonds holding Steve back, because as soon as the last word leaves his mouth, he’s stumbling into the room, to the other side of the bed, where he crouches so he’s eye-level with Peter.

Tony lightly nudges his son until he untangles himself from his father’s side and turns towards Steve.

“Hey buddy.” Steve smiles softly.

Tony can’t see Peter’s expression, but that’s okay. He needs both of his father’s right now, and above everything else, he knows that Steve will always care for their son.

“Hey,” Peter croaks.

Steve reaches out and places a hand on Peter’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now th’t you’re here,” Peter answers, in that simple, innocent way of his.

“You know I’ll always come for you,” Steve says, and Tony can practically taste the guilt in his words.

It seems to only confuse Peter’s fever-addled brain though. “Papa -”

Steve interrupts him gently. “It’s okay Pete. You just concentrate on getting Peter.”

Tony resists the urge to sigh. The way Steve’s looking at their son, it’s like watching a dying man deny himself the salvaging medicine.

“Come up here.”

Steve stares at him. “Tony?”

Now, Tony does sigh.

They’ve always held Peter when he was sick. Always.

And yeah, there’s a storm of emotions fighting for space in his heart, but he’s not about to deny his son this, even if something in him is shivering nervously.

(And even if, or maybe because, he still misses Steve so much that he needs him by his side as much as Peter does.)

“He needs both of us,” Tony says quietly, tugging Peter towards him to make room for Steve. “You know that.”

Steve looks at him, long and serious. “Are you okay with that?”

Tony smiles sadly. “Yeah. Now get in.”

Steve complies, with his shoulders hunched, like he’s trying to make himself appear smaller.

There’s a bit of awkward shuffling, because Steve’s trying to tug Peter into his arms, but his movements are stiff and unsure.

Tony feels a headache building behind his temple. “Steve,” he says calmly. “If you continue to try to avoid getting near me we’re gonna have a problem in the next few hours.”

Steve flinches like Tony slapped him, and yeah, Tony definitely still feels the tug in his heart whenever Steve looks like that.

“I’m sorry,” he adds, softer now. “You can touch me, is what I’m saying.”

Steve hesitates for a moment, then relaxed slightly and settles in next to Peter, who immediately snuggles into both of their arms.

 _Weird_ , Tony muses. He can feel Steve’s body heat beneath the blankets, and their shoulders are pressing against each other.

He does feel uneasy, mostly because of all the unresolved emotional issues between them, but he doesn’t feel scared. And he’s _glad_ Steve’s here, for both his sake and Peter’s.

The words escape him before he can help it. “I miss you.”

A long, heavy silence stretches between them.

Tony tenses.

Well, so much for him keeping composure.

But then, his husband reaches out for him.

“I miss you too,” Steve whispers.

 

* * *

 

 

They sit like that for a few hours while Peter sleeps. They check his temperature every half an hour and continuously place cooling towels on his forehead, but it takes until the early hours of the morning for Peter’s fever to break.

It’s mostly silent. Tony doesn’t want to risk the tentative peace between him and Steve, especially not with Peter right between them. (He also doesn’t want to burst the bubble he’s in himself; enjoy these few hours of being a normal family.)

Eventually, Tony gets up to renew the wet towels and ends up crying in the kitchen.

He doesn’t even know where the tears come from; but it feels like a dam is breaking because he ends up standing at the sink with his hands in icy water for fifteen minutes until Steve comes after him.

“Tony?”

He sounds confused. A little concerned, maybe.

Tony forces down a sob and turns off the faucet before putting the fresh towels into the kitchen isle.

“What’s wrong?”

Tony chokes on a laugh, and the words spill out of him like a waterfall. “What’s ever _right_ with me, Steve? Look at me, I can’t even take care of Peter without ...” He makes a gesture, pointing vaguely at himself.

Steve inhales sharply. “Tony...”

But Tony’s not done.

“Don’t. You haven’t seen me, _since_ , not really.” Tony’s hand has started shaking again. He lets it. “I didn’t sleep, I drank, I barely made it outside. I think Peter was more taking care of me than the other way ‘round. I’m no father for him.”

Steve frowns. “Listen, I know the last few months have been hard for you...”

Tony bristles. There it is, Captain America’s Voice Of Reason. Something he never responded well to.

He tries to cut Steve off, but the latter holds up a hand and barrels right on. “Now, you shouldn’t have been drinking. Especially not with Peter around. But I’m not doubting you, or your ability to be a father for him.”

Tony feels his eyes water. “I don’t... I can’t do this alone. I just -”

The truth of his own words hurt.

He’d tried to be a good father for Peter, to raise him alone and not let him get between Tony and Steve. But it was draining, and Tony knows he didn’t even do that good of a job as it is.

He needs Steve to help him. But he doesn’t know how to ask.

Steve definitely looks more concerned now; there’s an old trace of that caring, pained expression in his face that he always had on Tony’s bad days.

“Tony, you don’t have to do it alone. I’m going to be there.”

That stings; Tony can’t help it. “Oh, are you now?”

Steve sighs and lowers his head. “Yes. I know I probably got the good side out of all of this. I know I shouldn’t have left you like that. It was just -”

Tony smiles sadly. “Yeah. I know it was.”

Steve looks him right in the eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Tony’s chest constricts.

It’s not like Steve hasn’t apologized already; the letter proves otherwise. But it’s different to hear it from him in person after they held their son through twelve hours of fever.

It means more than the letter ever did, Tony knows that much. Even if they never manage to be in a relationship again, it’s an olive branch shining through the darkness.

And suddenly, Tony can breathe again. “Me too.”


End file.
